Chronicles of Two Lorelais
by Mirax Corran
Summary: It’s amazing how looking at a little bundle of blankets turned me from a sixteenyearold girl into a mother. Well, that’s not true. I stopped being a child the minute I realized why my dress didn’t fit. I stopped being a child when I became a mother.
1. A House Is A House for Me

**Author:** MiraxCorran

**Summary:** This is just a series of one-shots showing Lorelai and Rory's thoughts at moments that changed their lives - even if they don't know it, and thinking about those same moments.

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Chronicles of Two Lorelais -- Part One

Rory Gilmore—Age 12

I can't find my shoes! I push open my bedroom door—_my bedroom!_—and dig through my closet.

"Rory, hurry up! You _have_ to see this coffee place I found!"

Mom's found some new and supposedly fabulous. _Duke's Diner_, I think is what she called it.

I return to my quest for a pair of sneakers.

It's really odd how little time it took me to get used to our house. Mom and me moved in a year ago, but it feels like we've been here forever.

I've lived in an old potting shed most of my life—actually, all up it up to last year! It seems like getting used to big, two-story house would take long. The _house_ has walls inside: the bathroom is a separate room, there is extra space!

Extra space is totally new to me. I don't know what it's like. That potting shed was tiny. Minuscule! I wasn't really big enough to ever be a home, but we lived there for eleven years.

I love this house. It's beautiful, because I know how hard Mom worked to get the money for it.

I love it, but sometimes, sometimes I miss the potting shed. I miss sitting outside and watching the pong. I miss the feeling of closeness that I would get from that tiny building.

But more than anything, I miss the nights that we weren't in the shed.

Sometimes, on winter's coldest nights, if the Inn wasn't full, me and Mom would be allowed to sleep in an empty room. Sure, they were never the biggest and nicest room, but there was a thrill you got from seeing a TV, or a bathroom with real walls.

I know that that's normal to most people, but it's always been as treat to me. The past year has been a constant tread.

"Thanks for everything, Mom," Rory I whisper.

"Rory! I want coffee, _now_!"

"Coming, Mom."

I smile just a little. I could never have asked for a better mother. Never, no one.


	2. That Damn Painting

Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad that people want more.

_**Disclaimer:** If I owned Gilmore girls, do you think I would be sitting at a computer, writing fanfiction? _

_No, seriously. _

_Besides, I have five dollars to my name. Why would you sue me? _

**That Damn Painting**

Lorelai Gilmore—Age 32

It's been more or less sixteen years since I've been in my parents' house for anything but holidays—Christmas and Easter every year, nothing more. For the first time in sixteen years, I take a good look around instead of just handing them some sort of gift and sitting down.

I figure that if I have to been here every Friday, for an in indefinite amount of time, I might as well see what's changed.

My answer is nothing.

The house looks the same. Not _identical_: some of the knickknacks have changed, but the overall effect of the room is the same. Old, depressing, not a room that's lived in.

They have the same painting hung over the fireplace.

I remember that painting. The day that my parents and I posed for it, that was the day that I realized that I didn't belong in this family. And then they hung it over the fireplace, a constant reminder that I'm not one of them, that I've never been one of them.

On some level, that bothers me. I mean, me and Mom aren't exactly joined at the hip, but I've always wanted to fit into her world, in some way. I'd pretty much given up on it, when I only saw her twice a year, but it'll be hard seeing her once a week.

I hate _her_ world, but for some reason, I've always wanted to be a part of it. She and Dad love to show Rory off, take her places, talk about taking her to Europe, whatever. Me, I'm just a lost cause, someone that they only put up with because without me, they don't get to see Rory.

I look back up at the painting.

The day that we posed for that picture is perfectly clear in my memory. We 'had' to pose for it, because the Tashners had had a portrait done with their son, and Mom was 'sure' that Gina Tashner was trying to take her place at the DAR. So, of course, we had to one-up the Tashners.

The moment that Mom explained why I had to sit still for that portrait, I knew that I was in the wrong family. I was just a kid, but it was crazy. Ridiculous. Insane. Who would be that bothered by something so small?

Oh, yeah. Mom would be bothered by someone appearing to have more money or whatever than her.

It took hours to find a "good" pose, and no, it can't be done from a photo! So there I was, all of eight years old, sitting still for hours and hours. And hours and hours. And hours and hours.

You know the more that I think about it, the more I realize what a waste of time that painting was. I mean, just because Mom managed to get one up on some DAR lady didn't keep me from getting pregnant at sixteen.

I wonder how many points she lost for that!

I mean, I got pregnant, refused to marry the boy that a slept with, and then ran away.

_Definitely _born into the wrong family.

But here I am, sitting back in that house that I thought I had escaped sixteen years ago. Only now I'm here because I humbled myself to beg for money from my parents—all for Rory. It's always been about Rory.

_All_ about Rory.

All _about_ Rory.

All about _Rory_.

Never their wanting to be involved in my life: for God's sake, Mom still thinks that I work at a motel! They just care about their little granddaughter.

Not that I could ever fault them for that. I love Rory more than anyone or anything. I just … I guess that I'm afraid they'll do to her what they did to me: posing for ridiculous portraits, superfluous events, over-the-top coming out parties.

Well, they never made me do the coming out party. Though that was because I was pregnant.

But all the crap that they put me through, in some crazy, convoluted way, created Rory. If they hadn't tried to suppress me, I wouldn't have rebelled. If I hadn't rebelled, I wouldn't have slept with Christopher that day. And if I hadn't slept with him that day—at that time—who knows what kid I would have? Chance is so much of it …

But I got lucky that day.

I've got Rory, whether or not she's being dragged around by her grandparents.

I think that I can put up with them once a week.

"So, Lorelai, how are things at your motel?"

I feel my teeth clench. Maybe not.

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Thanks for reading! 

Reviews are very, very good. I feed off them. They give me substance.

Myra


	3. Then She Appeared

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me. The title is a song by XTC, the characters and the show belong to Amy Shermen-Palladino.

Anyways, thanks for clicking!

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**Then She Appeared  
**  
Lorelai—Age 16

My daughter.

_My_ daughter.

My _daughter_.

_My daughter. _

I realize that no matter how many times I say it to myself, it's not going to get any easier, any less frightening.

_Gilmore, Lorelai Leigh. Born: October 8, 1984. _

This little girl is completely dependent on me. She can't do anything on her own: she can't lift her head, she can't feed herself. And to be honest, it scares me to death.

I feel Chris standing behind me: his breath on my neck, his hand on my waist.

I don't turn.

Chris doesn't matter anymore. Mom and Dad don't matter anymore. Even school is less important than it was. And that's saying something!

What matters is Rory.

Somehow, I know that nothing will every matter as much as she does: no guy will ever be worth what Rory will be; no job will make it worth leaving her.

It's pretty amazing how looking at a little bundle of blankets turned me from a sixteen-year-old girl into a mother. Well, that's not exactly true. I stopped being a child the minute I realized _why_ my dress didn't fit. I stopped being a child when I had to lie to my parents' friends about why I was looking fatter. I stopped being a child when I became a mother.

That's pretty straightforward. You can't be a mother and a daughter at the same time: it's one or the other. Take your pick, buster.

I know what I picked, for sure. Not that I really had a choice in the matter, but there you are. I'm a mother now. I don't get to sit around and cry for mommy anymore. I'm mommy.

It's pretty scary, to think that this tiny thing is completely dependent on me.

But I think I'm up to the challenge.

At least, I hope to hell that I am.

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Thank you so much for reading! It means a lot to me. 

Myra


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